


The Privatisation of Water

by LakeWitch



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Avatar: The Last Airbender References, Awkwardness, Blow Jobs, Bottom Simon Snow, But they're not exactly friends, Chest Hair, Crack-ish, Dick Pics, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, Light Angst, M/M, Smut, Texting, This was supposed to be a PWP oneshot but it got out of hand, Top Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, a little bit of jealousy, confessions in the rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:54:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29434173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LakeWitch/pseuds/LakeWitch
Summary: To get Baz off his back about their class presentation, Simon texts back saying he's busy.When Baz presses him further, Simon says he's wanking.Neither Simon nor Baz expects Baz to text "Prove it."So, Simon proves it.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 36
Kudos: 190





	The Privatisation of Water

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gettingby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gettingby/gifts).



> who inspired this with a few lines about dick pics in her fantastic fic [A Scandal In Brittania](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28355415/chapters/69473619)
> 
> Happy (self-)(platonic-)(familial-)(romantic-) love day ❤️

**SIMON**

'—Which will be comprised of Basilton Grimm-Pitch, Simon Snow, and P—’

I look away from the names Professor Mukerjee is writing on the white board, and can’t help but glare. Because … how _dare_ he? 

My new group member is stiffly is gathering his things, and making to stand. 

And I … I have grievances. 

First off: out of all the universities in the UK, Baz Grimm-Pitch apparently had to choose the same one as me. And second off: apparently he thought it necessary to move into the same dorms as me, even though he's dead rich and his dad could've bought him a house near campus or something. Third off: out of all the possible courses at said university, he just _had_ to enrol in "The Artist as Activist" class with me, even though he isn't even in an arts program—he takes psychology. (I'm only really taking the class because I enrolled late, and I needed another art credit.) And, fourth off: I don't know why he had to anonymously choose the same topic as me so that we'd get into a group together for the big presentation worth most our grade. 

'Snow,' he says, and he says my name like he's bored, while he sets all his stuff in the empty seat beside me. 

We're not friends. We don't talk. Watford ended, and we didn't kill each other after all, and we were meant to go off and live our lives and never see one another again. 

'Hi! I'm Petra.' 

I realise I'm still frowning at Baz, and there's a girl in the row in front of us with her chair swivelled round. Our third group member. 

'Hey. Simon,' I say, doing my best to smile. She seems nice-enough, and I don’t need to take out my grievances on _her_. 

'Baz,' he says, and he sounds tired. 

'So, the privatisation of water, huh?' says Petra, already taking a piece of paper out and setting it between us to start scribbling notes. 'We should make a list of what we need to research. What kind of art project do you think we should design? What do you both like to do? Oh! Wait, we should exchange numbers. Should we make a group chat?' 

I have to bite back a sigh. There goes the thought of letting this project slip a bit, ensuring little to no contact with Baz. I have a feeling this project will be very annoying.  
  
  


~~

**BAZ**

**Petra (5:21pm):** Sorry guys, something personal came up and I have to drop the course. I'm sorry. Good luck with the rest of it.  
 **  
_Petra has left the chat._   
**

I blink at the message for a while. That'd been … abrupt. I hope she's all right, but … but she's leaving us a bit high and dry so I can't help feeling irritated. Most of the other groups in our class had four people to begin with, and now we're down to two. And, very unfortunately, my other group member is Simon Snow, so I guess I'm not holding out on a good grade anymore. 

**Simon (5:29pm)** : brilliant 

Crowley, it's weird that it's just us. In a "group chat". 

I really don't know how to talk to him anymore; I think I've forgotten how I used to do it. Now interactions feel like I'm walking on eggshells, when I know very-well how stupid that is. It's just Snow, I've known him since we were eleven. I've seen him cry. I've _made_ him cry. There's no reason for anything to be different. But … it just is. We're in university, there wasn’t some grand war, but he's lost his magic, and the Mage is dead. And now I don't know how to talk to him. 

**Baz (5:33pm):** Yes.  
**Baz (5:34pm):** We can split her part up evenly between us.  
**Simon (5:41pm):** whatever 

I sigh, and drop my phone onto my desk, running my fingers through my hair. 

It's harder this year, and I can't believe I'm saying it—but I think I might've liked it better at Watford, sharing a room with Snow, having his attention (even if it was of the negative sort). (Even if it felt like sharing a room with an open flame.) At university, he's near but he's so, so very far. And I want to grab him by the shoulders and say, 'Don't you remember me? Don't you remember _us_?' 

And I don't know where this feeling is coming from … because I know he actually remembers us (although the only "us" was that of rivals and hatred and nothing good), and I know that he remembers _me_ specifically. But I think he just wishes he didn't—and that's the worst part. I think when he sees me I'm a sour taste in his mouth—a bitter reminder. And part of me is certain that when we're out of eyesight, he's forgotten I exist entirely. 

I don't know. I don't know if what I'm feeling makes any sense … I just know I despise it.  
  
  


~~

**SIMON**

My phone makes a sound, so I pause the episode of Avatar. (I’m watching it from the very beginning again.) Squinting at my phone in my darkened dorm room, I see Baz's name light up.

 **Baz (7:03pm):** Did you get my email? 

I groan, and toss my phone down beside me on the bed. All that man cares about is our sodding water project, and we've got four whole weeks until the presentation. There is _so much time_. 

**Baz (7:06pm):** I sent you stats regarding how much water it takes to have roses grown in Kenya and sent to Europe. 

He doesn't let up. I type a quick reply, and push play on Avatar. 

**Simon (7:07pm):** I'm busy

**BAZ**

I look at his message, not knowing what to do. Am I going to have to do this whole project myself? When I have a test worth 30% of my grade next week, and three papers due the following …

 **Baz (7:09pm):** With what? 

I honestly wouldn't be surprised if he was with friends at the pub, stuffing his face with chips and a pint. 

**Simon (7:10pm):** wanking 

I … 

He's having me on. 

I know he is, and I don't appreciate it. My mouth has gone very dry, and I do not know what to think. 

**Baz (7:11pm):** No you're not.  
**Baz (7:11pm):** It's 7pm.  
**Baz (7:12pm):** You're just trying to get me to leave you alone.  
**Simon (7:13pm):** people can wank at 7pm. did you not know that?  
**Baz (7:14pm):** Of course I know they _can_  
**Baz (7:14pm):** I've known you for 8 years, Snow  
**Baz (7:14pm):** I know you don't  
**Baz (7:14pm):** I mean, it's not the usual 

Oh Morgana, what am I saying? _Why_ am I—? 

**Simon (7:15pm):** well I wasn't going to wank right in front of you at 7pm at watford now was I 

_Just shut up, Baz, and stop texting him—_

**Baz (7:14pm):** You wouldn't be texting me right now if you were  
**Simon (7:15pm):** u sure about that?  
**Baz (7:15pm):** Prove it. 

Oh no. What have I done?

**SIMON**

My laughter dies with that last message. I'm just staring at it, as a shiver runs through me.

Baz had seemed so flustered, right up until he hadn't. 

_Prove it_. 

I can't believe he said that—Baz. Baz said that. To me. About wanking. I don't know what he had in mind by sending that message, but I know exactly where _my_ mind's gone. 

It's like he's left an open invitation. Better yet: a _challenge_. 

And I've … well, I've always liked a challenge. And I've always liked to get a reaction out of him. 

I'll just need a minute to get myself ready, I'm thinking, as I push my joggers down. My cock springs out, already half hard. Maybe just the idea of it … of sending something to Baz that he's asking for, whether he knows he's asking for it or not, is … well, pretty fucking exciting to me. 

It's bad. I know it's bad, and I shouldn't. And I think that's why it seems so good. 

I stroke myself slowly, as my cock grows to its full, erect size. It doesn't take long. I'm thinking about Baz asking. No, _telling_. I'm thinking about looking into his eyes, cold deep grey eyes, sparkling with something and unblinking, not displaying even a hint of doubt, as he says in his stupid silky-smooth posh voice, 'Prove it.' 

And yeah, I can't believe I'm considering proving it. I guess I'm not really thinking. I mean, I could snap a few pictures and choose not to send them. That's an option. Nothing's set in stone yet. 

I think of Baz waiting, with his phone in his hand. He doesn't think I'm going to do it. He's probably thinking I was lying and I'll admit defeat. And yeah, okay, I _was_ lying. (But there's no reason to tell him that.) And my hand feels so good—my phone's right there beside me on the bed. And _he's told me to_. 

So I pick up my phone, and sort-of cover the head of my cock with my fingers, and I take a picture. 

The end result is dark, and pretty blurry, but that's my hand, and a section of my shaft. 

Fuck it. Baz can eat his words. 

I hit send.

**BAZ**

I am an idiot. I shouldn't have said that.

At least those two words sound like some stupid, cocksure thing I'd say normally, and don't _really_ convey how desperately I love him and wouldn't be averse to watching him masturbate at any time convenient for him. 

He's not texting back. That's good. Conversation over, then. Maybe I'll give him a break and wait another day before I start pestering him about our project again. We'll forget this whole conversation ever happened. 

My mobile pings. It's an image, the alert says. My heart rate has increased, as I unlock my phone. It's probably a meme. It's probably something juvenile. 

I find myself sliding off my bed to sit my arse down on the floor. I'm gripping my phone in both hands, and staring. 

It … it certainly looks like it could be a cock. _Snow's_ cock. 

He wouldn't, though, would he? 

He'd never— 

Not to me— 

It looks like a cock. It's dark and blurry and the head is covered up by fingers. There's a sliver of a bright laptop screen in the corner. There's what looks like grey-ish joggers stretching it towards the far end, disappearing into darkness. 

A shaft, a shaft with a bit of vein. 

I shouldn't— 

**Baz (7:37pm):** That could be anything. It's too dark and blurry to be used as proof.

**SIMON**

A laugh bursts out of me. I can't believe he wrote that, it's like he's egging me on. My hand is still slowly stroking myself. I'm so turned on by this, _weirdly_ turned on by this, but I don't want it to end before I can really see where it could go. (I'm not going to think too hard on what that means.)

So, I turn on the overhead light in my dorm room, and settle back onto the bed. There's plenty of light now. 

I pause with my fingers on my cockhead again, giving it a squeeze as I take a few more pictures. 

When I’m done I flick through them, and find one that's completely in focus, and I hesitate. 

I probably shouldn't. 

Eh, fuck it, yeah? 

I hit send.

**BAZ**

The second image makes me gasp out loud.

I fall onto my back, on the floor between my bed and the wall, and hold my phone above my face. 

It's perfect. It's a perfect cock. 

Snow could be having me on. He could've gotten pictures from the internet. But … but that looks like his hand. I've seen his hands. I know his hands. I think this might be real. 

I'm … I'm feeling a lot of feelings right now. Mainly arousal. But I don't want to break the spell of whatever-this-is. 

**Baz (7:43pm):** Hand's in the way. Could be anything.  
**Simon (7:44pm):** you first 

_Oh_. My heart is pounding (as much as it _can_ pound). I'm sure he doesn't want to see … I tilt my head up off the floor and look down my body towards where my cock presses at my trousers, thrumming with desire already. 

I've never … 

Surely he wouldn't want to see … _mine_ … 

I push myself back up, leaning against the side of the bed, and I slowly undo my flies. I pull my cock from my pants and move the ends of my shirt out of the way. It's grey-ish pink, and pale; starkly contrast to my black pressed trousers. I don't think he really wants to see it. How could he? I've always known Simon Snow to be heterosexual, for one thing. But maybe this isn't about that, that this is some kind of challenge, separate from sexuality. 

I take a photo of my lap, as is, and I send it. I'm not thinking. 

(Not thinking with my head, that is.)

**SIMON**

A new message, an image. I open it eagerly, and I suck in a massive breath at what I see.

It has to be Baz's cock, _has to be_. It's so pale, and kind of pretty? Just like he is … 

I can't believe he'd send me that. I thought I was calling his bluff. But he sent it. 

Oh my God, he sent it. And it's so fucking hot. I bite at my lip and can't help but stroke faster, as I stare at the image. Mapping it, following its every contour. _Baz's cock. Baz's._ My surly vampire ex-roommate with a constant stick up his arse. Who always had everything proper, who changed in the en suite, who walked around like he was King of bloody everything. _That Baz_. He's sent me a picture of his hard dick. 

**Baz (7:53pm):** Your turn 

Fuck. He's right. 

I, regretfully, stop touching myself, and lean up on one elbow to take another picture. This one is completely in focus, showing my entire cock, cockhead-and-all, pubic hair, and a bit of stomach too. 

Whatever. This is me. 

I send it, and resume stroking myself. I want to come … I want to come but I also want to delay it, to keep going. 

**Baz (7:56pm):** Video proof 

I laugh. 

He wants this, I realise. He wants this as much as I think I do right now. Maybe because it's so weird? Because it feels "forbidden"? 

**Simon (7:57pm):** you too 

Should we do a video call? 

Fuck, just the idea makes me strangely nervous. That'd be too much. Maybe. I think? 

A new message alert comes a minute later. A video. I suck in a breath and hit play. And it shows slender, pale fingers moving over that light grey-pink cock, framed by dark trousers and a bit of charcoal grey shirt. Those hands—graceful hands—are unmistakable to me, pulling back on the foreskin, thumbing over the slit at the top. They're the same hands that shoved me down a flight of steps, the same hands that plucked at the violin from the corner of our room. 

He's touching himself, slowly. He's showing me this. 

The video stops abruptly. 

I'd better … I'd better reciprocate.

**BAZ**

Snow's video comes through. I pause in touching myself to watch.

Crowley … 

It's not just being able to watch Snow's hand move up and down his cock, it's the _sounds_. I can hear his breaths, his panting, the little sounds of pleasure—something like a muffled "ah". 

His hand speeds up in the video, and, before long, his body arches with a choked-out cry. His fingers stroke faster, and he gets _loud_ , as spurts of white fill his fist and drip out down his knuckles. 

The video ends. I click the volume up even higher, and play it again, fisting at myself as I watch once more. 

And this time … this time when Snow comes, I come too.

**SIMON**

After I wipe my hand on tissues, I slump back on the bed with an arm draped over my eyes. That'd been a fucking good wank. I feel … I feel really good. Relaxed. Bit floaty, really. But there is a part that scratching at something inside my head. Like … like a reminder that I might need to think this through at some point.

Fuck. I don't even know if I should say something to Baz. What though? "Thanks for the wank? Nice cock btw?" Or maybe, "Do you even like blokes?" Because he's never made any indication of the sort. I don't think I've ever seen him interested in anyone, save Agatha I guess. But he'd said that was just to piss me off. And it wasn't like they actually dated after she and I broke up or anything. 

My phone pings once more. I look, and it's a picture of a pale, fit chest with shiny trails of white splattered over it, and a half-soft cock resting on his abdomen. My breath hitches, because it's so _pretty_. His pale chest, and he's sort of still got abs but they're less defined now. I mean … and there's the come all over his stomach. And the trim black hairs near his cock leading up to his navel, and even more black hairs further up his chest. 

He'd come. And sort-of with me. We kind of had sex. Well not really. But sort of? Separately, but together too, in a way. 

I lick my bottom lip, and bite down. 

Now what? 

Should I send a “thumbs up” emoji? No, that’d be horrible.

**BAZ**

Now what?

Oh fuck— _now what_? 

Are we supposed to say something now? Or say nothing? Nothing at all? Because I haven't the faintest idea on what to say. 

Fuck. 

In the end, neither of us say anything.  
  
  


~~

**SIMON**

Baz is sitting about as far away from me as he can. I keep glancing at him during the lecture—I guess I can't help it. It's just so … I don't know, kind of amazing that that'd happened? Weird, yeah. But pretty amazing, really.

I mean, I think we're still … I don't know, enemies? I don't think the whole thing means we like each other now or anything. But I've been thinking about him ever since, and I think I might even want to talk about it (even though it's awkward as hell). 

I sigh, watching him. He looks a bit off. Baz's posture is stiff, like he's frozen in place, and one hand grips the edge of the table while the other just sits on his laptop keyboard. He's not even typing anything. I'm not sure he's paying any attention at all. 

'All right. Now why don't you get into your groups and use the last half hour to work on your presentations,' Prof. Mukerjee says, and I freeze. 

I mean, I knew we'd have to talk again soon and actually get this sodding presentation sorted out. But … 

I look over at Baz again, and this time he seems to be busy clicking through his computer, all bent over it. His hair fans out and blocks his face from my view. 

I wonder if he's just pretending to look busy. 

Well … I'm going over. We have to talk. I know it's a bit weird (a lot weird) between us but it was just a mutual wank over group chat. I'm sure we can be adults about it. So I gather my coat and my laptop and head to his side of the lecture hall. And I feel a funny thrill that I try to bite back. 

'Hey,' I say, plopping everything down beside him, and he jumps—he actually jumps. He's uncomfortable, I guess? Or maybe I'm reading too much into this. I've never done anything like that before, so maybe I'm just … I don't know, over-thinking it. 

'Mm,' he mumbles. So I guess he doesn't want to even talk to me. 

Okay. Well … I guess I'll pull up what we've got so far on my laptop. We've got a lot of info. I'd even read that rose thing that he'd sent me. We're pretty good, just have to figure out what the art part would be. 

As I wait for all my notes to load, my eyes stray around the room to the other groups. Everyone looks like they're getting along in their groups, working well together. I accidentally catch the eye of a girl who looks vaguely familiar, and she grins back at me. I try to smile back. But I'm distracted—I think I've got to talk to Baz. 

I turn to him, and study the side of his face for a moment as he stares at his own computer screen like whatever it is hugely important. He's all pinched. 

So I just start talking. 'What if, theoretically, the project is like an empty water bottle clean up by the seaside or something? And then we'd make a sculpture out of the water bottles?' 

He finally looks me in the eye then. And I think I forget to breathe … because his eyes don't have any of the disdain or anger or coldness that I'm used to from him. Instead they seem … I don't know, vulnerable? Bare? 

He licks at his bottom lip, then clears his throat. 'That sounds like it's protesting litter, not privatising water.' 

'Oh,' I say softly. And we're just looking at each other. I'm trying to guess what he's thinking. Feeling. 

'Simon!' 

I turn to see the girl I'd caught eyes with a minute earlier, standing in the row ahead of us, right in front of me. She's grinning. 

'You're in Art of the Middle East, yeah? I wonder if I could get your notes for the last two classes.' 

'Oh. Yeah, course.' 

'Give me your phone?' she says, smiling, and leaning closer—close enough to smell her perfume. It's pretty flowery. 'We could meet at the café. I'll buy you a coffee to thank you for helping me out?' 

'All right,' I say, and pull out my phone from my pocket. I unlock it and pull up a new contact page, and hand it over. 

As she types in her info, I stare at the phone, and it seems like Baz might be staring at it too, even though I've no idea. It just _feels_ like it—like we're remembering what's on it at the same time. And part of me want to snatch my phone out of this girl's hands … She doesn't know what's on there, and I want to protect the pictures. They're … they're so private. Just knowing she's a few presses of her finger away— 

'Here,' she says happily, handing it back. 

I look down at my phone—open at a new message. To her. _Beth_ , apparently. She's sent a "hi" to herself. 

'I'll text you.' 

I nod, and pocket my phone. 

After she's left, it feels even stranger with Baz. I feel uncomfortable, more so than before. I dare to look at him, and he's got his eyes pointed at his computer screen, but it's like he's looking right through it. And he's brushing his thumbnail against his bottom lip. 

And I've no idea on what to say. 

I guess I don't have to know, in the end, because he's pushing his chair back and saying he's got a class. Which is untrue, because this one still has twenty minutes left.  
  
  


~~

**BAZ**

I'm not thinking straight. I must've slept about two hours last night, finishing up my stats assignment.

I've handed it in though; I even sat through the whole bloody 6-8pm class without passing out on the desk. And now all I want to do is lie down in my dorm room and forget about the world. 

I'm walking down the hall, when a door opens. 

'Baz.' 

I stop in my tracks. 

'Come here, I want to show you something.' 

I turn to find Simon Snow with rumpled curls, a white t-shirt, and grey joggers, leaning in his doorframe. 

'For our project,' he adds, and I think I detect a hint of a rosy blush. 

'Can it wait?' I force myself to ask. 

'Come on, it'll be a second.' 

'Fine.' I trail in after him with uncertainty, and he closes the door behind me. I can smell him. He smells like butter and warmth and plain bar soap. 

Snow's room makes my chest ache—because it's so similar from how it was when we shared one. It has all his things … his desk chair is piled up with discarded clothing. He's got a photo of himself and Penelope Bunce on his nightstand. 

And, at the same time, it's completely different. There's a new poster of some band I've never heard of—all turquoise with a rainbow of coloured circles. There's a well-used Persian rug on the floor, and a potted plant on his desk that I hadn't seen before. And … and the room doesn't have any traces of me in it. 

Snow climbs onto his unmade bed cross-legged and pulls his laptop onto his lap. And I'm just standing there. In the middle of his small room, not knowing what to do with my hands or where to look. (What's happened to me?) 

'Here,' Simon says, turning the laptop towards me. 

And I've no idea what it is, I can't see. So I'm forced to come closer, and sit on the edge of his bed. 

'Sinkholes,' he says. 'We could make the art project sinkholes drawn from chalk in busy intersections all over. All over the country maybe. What do you think?' 

'Yeah.' I'm so tired. 'It's good.' 

'Yeah?' Snow asks, and he sounds so hopeful. 

I meet his eyes and he's smiling at me. 'Yes.' 

'Cool,' he says, dropping his eyes down to his laptop, with the ghost of that smile still on his mouth. 

I suppose I should go. 

'You look tired,' he says. 'Want to watch Avatar?' 

I blink at him. 'What?' 

'Avatar: The Last Airbender?' When I don't react, he adds, 'Hold on.' He clicks around on his laptop, then shows me the Netflix page of some cartoon. 

'A cartoon.' 

Snow huffs a laugh. 'Don't be a snob. It's a brilliant show.' 

'Is it.' 

‘I’ve just started re-watching lately,’ Snow says as he reaches over to his nightstand. His shirt rides up, and I look away quickly. I should go. Probably. I'm so tired. Snow tosses me something, something into my lap—it's a packet salt and vinegar crisps. Before I can process that he just keeps a stash, he's tossed me a pillow and it smacks me on the side of my arm. 

'Give it a chance,' he adds, settling his back against a pillow, pressing play on the laptop and setting it beside his outstretched legs. ‘We’ll watch from episode one. If you don’t like it by, like, episode six we can stop.’ 

I … I am forced to move closer to him, to prop the pillow beside him against the wall. I’m not sure how I got myself tricked into this. 

And I watch on in vague confusion as some sort of ice world story unfolds, and I struggle to guess as to why I should care about it. 

Snow takes the crisps bag out of my clenched hands and opens it. He takes one, crunching loudly, and passes it back. This is … I don't know. I don't know what this is.

**SIMON**

Baz has fallen asleep before the second episode even ended. I pause it (because I'm serious about him watching it) and change it over to some random movie that Netflix has suggested for me. It's some Yorkshire thing about a farm and sheep and stuff. I think about Ebb and her goats and feel kind of sad. I wonder who's looking after the goats right now.

I think about Baz being beside me, slumping down awkwardly against the wall. I'm surprised he actually came in, to be honest. I didn't really know what I was doing luring him in here, but I'm glad I did. I'm tired of it being awkward between us. We'd never been awkward before—we'd always known how we stood with one another. Say what you will about our "relationship"—at least it'd always been genuine. 

I keep watching the video he'd sent me. Not _now_ of course, but at night, when I’m alone. I can't seem to stop. I think about it a lot—the video, and his cock. Sometimes I've thought about him being here, in my room, and us doing that again side by side. Sometimes I've thought about licking him there, just to see what it would feel like. How it'd taste. 

But that's mad. I know it's mad. 

My attention is pulled away from my thoughts when in the film the main bloke is spitting into the cleft of some other bloke's arse, and taking him from behind in the cow trailer. 

And I … didn't know this was that sort of film. 

It's hot. It's fucking hot. But at the same time, there's nothing tender about it at all. Like scratching an itch. Mutually using someone. I wonder if Baz would want that. 

I nearly jump as Baz's head drops to my upper arm—almost on my shoulder but a bit too low. He's breathing deeply, so I know it's not on purpose. 

He smells the same. Hasn't changed at all in that way. 

When the film ends, and I've finished crying about it (because the ending was so fucking beautiful and raw and honest), I set Baz down gently—onto the bed proper—with pillow under his head. He's fast asleep, still. My chest aches. I think it's from the film. Maybe I just want to be loved like that. Maybe it's because I know I'm not. 

I get up to use the toilet down the hall, and I wonder at just how gay I might be. At this point I'm thinking at least 50%. 

Later, I climb into bed, with Baz still fast asleep and taking up 2/3rds of the space with his long legs. And I wonder at how much of a percent Baz might be gay. Maybe 0%. I don't know.

**BAZ**

I open my eyes blearily. It's dark. One side of my body is pressed up against a wall, and there's a warm presence on my other side. This bed is on the wrong wall. This is … not my bed.

I remember Snow's invitation. The cartoon. I must have … drifted off. And now it feels like it's much later, maybe even the middle of the night. I turn my head to find Snow, on his back, overtop the blankets in the same t-shirt and joggers as earlier—and he's asleep. 

I need to get out of here, to go back to my own dorm room. 

Carefully and slowly, I lift myself, and hoist an arm and leg over Snow's sprawled body. But before I can get the other arm and leg past him, hands come up to grip my biceps. 

'Snow—' I say with uncertainty. 

'Mm. You could stay,' he murmurs out, mouth thick with sleep. 

'It's late.' 

'You could stay,' he says again, tightening his grip. 

'I …' 

He pulls me down, onto him, and wraps his arms around my back. I'm too stunned to react. He's a warm presence underneath me—soft and hard all at once. And I'm just staring down at the pillow to the left of his ear. 

'Mm,' he utters again, and I can feel the sound travel through him. The rise and fall of his seemingly-relaxed chest. (How can he be relaxed?) 'Do you think you might … ?' 

'What?' I breathe out. I know I'm holding myself stiffly. I know my heart rate is much faster than normal. 

'Do you want to touch,' he says sleepily, 'each other?' 

'I …' I don't know what he's saying exactly. 

And then he thrusts his hips up in the smallest of gestures, and now _I get it_. 

I push up, and Snow's arms loosen to let me. I look down at him, in the darkness, and I can see him perfectly as he blinks up at me. 

I feel it now—a hardness pressing into me. Snow … Snow is turned on. And he's asking if I want to participate in rectifying that fact. 

It's late. Maybe that's why I'm not thinking clearly, and say, 'Yes.' 

He pushes up on his elbows, and I move aside to give him space. But he's coming for me—for my shirt. His fingers fumble at the buttons. If I thought my heart rate was fast before— 

He's pushing my shirt off my shoulders, then pulling his own t-shirt up and over his head. Warm fingers find my chest, touching, ghosting over my nipples, my chest hair, over my abdomen to make the muscles dance and quiver under his touch. I'm nervous. I'm uncertain. And I'm very-much on board. 

Snow's breaths are becoming ragged and hurried, as if he's already becoming overwhelmed by what we're doing before it's even started. I think to ask him: _Are you sure? Are you sure you want this with_ me? But he's lifting up his hips and slipping his joggers clean off, and he wasn't wearing any pants. 

I fumble with my own trousers, trying not to stare at the very-real naked Snow in the same bed as me. He's very hard, and his cock is bobbing as he leans in to help shuck the trousers and pants off me in one go. And now we're both as bare as the day we were born.

**SIMON**

It's dark, but I can see him well-enough. His body is bathed in navy darkness, with slivers of light glimmering on him from the cracks in the door, and the streetlight far off through the window. He's beautiful, and I don't really know what I'm doing, but I know that I'm really interested in seeing where it might go.

He's hard, and I just want to touch him there. I want to see how he'd feel in my hands. 

'Can I?' I ask, hovering my palm close to his thigh. 

'Yeah.' 

I let my hand lower to his skin. It's cool to the touch. I kneed at his thigh gently, just looking at him. Baz's eyes are trailing all over me—and I feel very naked, very exposed, and very turned on. I want to. I'm ready. I shift my fingers and make a path to his cock until I've got my fingers wrapped around his length. I’m touching him .... _Baz_ , and now I'm stroking at the cool, velvet-soft skin. 

Baz lets out a little cry, under his breath. 

'Good?' I ask. 

'Yeah,' he says again, more breathless this time, and he writhes his body like it's good, gasping a little. 

I scoot in closer to him, and he takes notice. His mouth is hanging open a bit, as his eyes drift to the space between my legs. He moans again, and squeezes his eyes. They open with something—some sort-of light—and then his fingers find my cock. 

I flinch and hiss as his freezing cold fingertips ghost over me. He pulls back as I'd burnt _him_. 

He's apologetic, maybe even alarmed, as he says, 'Sorry! I know I'm—I can't help—' 

'Keep going?' I interrupt. 'Please?' 

'I …' 

'You know some people use ice cubes in the bedroom, right?' I start babbling, just to try to make him feel better. 'It's good. It feels good. I _like_ that you're cold.' 

He blinks at me, as if I've said something preposterous. But his hand comes back onto my cock, tentative, but it's his hand—touching me, again, where no else has ever touched me. And I’m ready for it this time. It’s fucking amazing. 

I thumb over his tip, pressing into the entrance just a little bit, and he moans—low in his throat—and it's the most beautiful thing. It also seems to prompt him into touching me with a little more confidence. He fists at me, and I lean into it, as I stroke him. Fucking hell is he sexy. I mean, _this_ , all of this, is really fucking hot. 

I kind of want to kiss him. But I don't know how he'd feel about that, so I don't. Instead I watch his head roll back against the wall, I stare at his bared throat, and I think about licking it. But I don't. 

'Simon,' he whines under his breath. 

'Baz,' I answer, and it comes out low and throaty. 

'I think I'm—' 

Yeah,' I say to encourage him. Stroking him. Fuck, he's so hard. And I'm the one who's doing this to him. 'I'm going to make you come.' 

His body arches, as he sucks in a rasping breath. And spurts are spilling out of him into my pumping fist. I help him ride out his orgasm in fascination. He's so pretty—undone like this. 

But, without warning, Baz shoves me onto my back, and straddles one of my outstretched legs, leaning down. I watch in awe as he licks the head of my cock with the flat of his tongue, and it sends electricity through me. I curl my toes as he does it again, this time starting at the base and licking up slowly. When he gets back to the head, he pushes it past his lips, and tongues at it—at _me_. 

'Fuck, Baz,' I say, as I brush my fingers (the ones that weren't ejaculated on) into his hair. 

He sucks on the tip, as his hand fondles at my bollocks, then at my shaft. 

I sort-of wish he'd try to put all of it in his mouth. But this is still fucking brilliant, really. He sucks just a bit more, hollowing out his mouth—and it's more than I can take. My bollocks tighten, and before I can say anything, I'm coming. I'm on fire, I'm … I'm … Yeah, it's fucking amazing. 

And Baz just laps it all up, all of my come, and _swallows_. 

Once I’m all spent, he pops off my cock, and collapses next to me with his arm slightly overtop mine. 

'Wow,' I say. 

'Yes,' he echoes softly. 

I still think I want to kiss him. But … 

But my hand is covered in his come, so I grab some tissues from my nightstand and scrub it off. 

'Want to watch more Avatar?' I ask instead. 

'It's the middle of the night,' he says, and then he sighs, but it sounds like an almost happy one. 'Yeah, all right.'  
  
  


~~

**BAZ**

I wake up squinting. The room is bathed in a harsh morning light—the curtains mustn't have been closed last night.

There're two heavy weights strewn across me, overtop a thin bedsheet. I squint down at myself and find a bare mole-dotted arm and leg sprawled over me. Following those limbs leads to a very-naked Simon Snow sleeping deeply beside me. 

I push up, jostling his limbs a little, and take a look at all the expanses of skin on display. He's beautiful. So beautiful my chest feels tight. 

As if he somehow senses my awakened state, Snow twists towards me, bringing his arms and legs in. His face is so close, and so relaxed. Not a trace of worry or concern or anything at all negative. He's sleep-soft, his lips full and relaxed and I wonder … I wonder what it'd feel like to kiss them. Warm, I'm certain. 

Stubby brown eyelashes flicker open, and I'm met with blue eyes, so close to mine. He's caught me staring. 

' _Oh,_ ' he says softly. 

'Good morning, Snow,' I say, attempting nonchalance. 

And he _laughs_ , sleepily and all breathy. 'Morning.' He's smiling now, and shutting his eyes again. 

I lift up my head to check the room for a clock. He's got a digital one on top of his desk, and it reads 9:38. 

'I've a 10am class,' I say, half to myself. 

'Mm,' Snow utters sleepily. 'Mine's at one.' 

'I've got 22 minutes.' 

'Better hurry,' he says, and he's smiling as he shifts onto his back again. 

'Yes,' I agree. And … and I regret having to leave. I don't think I'll ever get this opportunity again—naked in Snow's bed. Imagine: a lazy morning. What if we had another round? No … better not to think about that. But my cock's already partway hard at having ogled Snow just a moment before. 

Biting back a sigh, I work to climb over Simon, and … and doesn't he wake up fully for it, then? His eyes are wide open now, as he watches me attempt not to touch his skin as I traverse his body. He isn't even trying to be helpful at all—not even moving a muscle. I'm trying not to stare at his soft cock, just nestled there and seemingly not-at-all interested in what I'm doing, while mine is getting dangerously close to fully erect at the sight of him. 

I've done it, I've navigated over him, and now I'm standing naked in the middle of his room. 

Snow leans up on his elbow, and doesn't even hide the fact that he's looking me up and down. I consider telling him it's rude to stare, but I admit his interest isn't wholly unwelcome. 

I find my boxer briefs in a pile on the floor, and step into them. They're uncomfortably tight on my cock, but I'll just have to endure. I'm not about to ask Snow if he wants a quickie in the light of day. Besides, I should hurry. It'd be a pain to miss the class and have to catch up. 

I continue dressing, with the strange silence over the two of us. It's not necessarily uncomfortable, though. It's like … it's like something's shifted and we're still processing it, but it's not a _bad thing_ , per se. I don't know. 

I'm fully dressed, and Snow is still sprawled out naked, with both arms leisurely behind his head now, as he looks at me, at someplace around my chest. I want to run my fingers from his cheek to his chest to over his soft cock to all the way down his leg. As a gesture of "see you later". No, that's ridiculous. 

'See you later?' Snow says, as if he's read my mind. 

And my eyes flicker from his body to his face. He looks a bit smug, a bit pleased with himself. 'Yes,' I agree. Because of course we will—in class and in the dorms and whatnot. 

'Have a good class,' he adds, smirking a little. 

'I shall,' I say, smoothing a palm over the wrinkled fabric over my stomach. I clear my throat. Time to go, then. I nod at him, which perhaps is a bit awkward of me, and then I turn and leave, not looking back.

**SIMON**

I keep thinking about Baz. I keep _wanking_ about Baz. Fuck … _his body_. He's so bloody fit it's driving me mad.

And he's making no attempts at talking to me, which is also driving me a bit mad. 

So, three evenings after our naked sleepover, I grab my laptop from my room, and head over to his. I knock. 

'Yeah?' comes muffled through the door. 

'It's Simon,' I say. 

He opens up, and he's dressed in a navy-blue pyjama set. It's really cute. His eyes are wide, as he asks tentatively, 'Yes?' 

I hold up my laptop. 'Avatar?' 

He blinks at it for a moment. 'Oh. Yeah, all right.' Then he moves aside for me to enter. 

I've never been in his room before. Of course I hadn't. But there's something so familiar about it. It smells like him—like cedar and bergamot. And there's his violin case, and some books I recognise. It's all very tidy, and feels so nostalgic that something tugs at me. I don't know. It's nice, I guess. 

Baz seems unsure, as he crawls onto his neatly made-up bed. 

I come in beside him, and open up the laptop, typing "n" and hitting enter when Netflix automatically gets suggested. 

'It's Bunce's account,' Baz says, with a hint of fondness—unless I'm imagining it. 

I pause. Yeah, the account icons read: Penny, Simon, Shep, and that "Kids" one. 

'Who is Shep?' he asks. 

'Penny's boyfriend,' I say, glancing at him. 'They met … well, we all met in America. Took a road trip after Watford.' 

'Oh,' he says, blinking at the screen. 'Ah, I've never been.' 

'It was …' Well, it's a long story. 'Different.' 

'Mm,' he muses. And he lets me drop it, which I'm glad for. 

I select my account, and go to the recently watched so that we can continue with Avatar. 

'You watched God's Own Country,' he says, and there's something in his tone I can't quite define. 

'I did …' 

He looks at me, and I look at him. And I don't know if he thinks that's bad or good. So I click play on Avatar, and lean back.

**BAZ**

Snow watched a gay film. I don't know what to think about that.

I know it'd be foolish to assume that he'd choose a relationship with a man, let alone with _me_ , just because he watched one film. And the fact that we shared a few illicit photos and some brief horny fumblings in the middle of the night once doesn't mean the same either. 

But we're watching Avatar together. That's … that's something. I wonder if we're becoming actual friends. And if we're friends, does this mean that sometimes we are "friends with benefits"? (And would I even fucking want that?) Because of course, in a perfect world, I'd want more, much more than that. So much more, really. Is it self-sabotaging and self-destructive to settle for so much less, even if it keeps him close to me for a little while? 

I'm thinking too much. I should just pay attention to the show. 

Snow is shifting beside me, squirming like he's antsy. He's crossed his arms over his chest and is rubbing at his biceps. 

'Are you cold?' I ask, furrowing my brow. I feel like it's warm-enough, and I'm the one that runs cold out of the two of us. 

'Oh. No.' His eyes dart to mine, then down, then up again. 

'Spit it out, Snow.' 

He's staring at the screen now, like he's determined not to look at me while he says whatever he's going to say. 'I was thinking …' I wait for him to continue, though he pauses for a long while. He breaks the silence with a forced laugh. 'I was thinking I should …' He clears his throat, then bursts out, 'suck-you-off-because-it's-only-fair-right?' 

I'm … I'm shocked. My heart rate is very-much up, and the air feels still, and charged. 

Is it only fair? 

'I mean,' he continues, 'you sucked me off, but I only used my hand with you. And I've thought that … it's not _even_ , you know?' He swallows hard, still not looking at my face. 

'Yeah, all right,' I say. 

I didn't think he'd want to do that. Using a hand is one thing, a mouth is another. But I'm not about to tell him "no", or that it isn't a competition. 

' _Oh_ ,' he breathes out, like he expected a different answer. 'Is right now okay, then?' 

Fuck, Snow. 'Yes.' 

He shuffles in closer to me, and I can feel the heat of him, without looking. But I do look—at the tilt of his head as he looks down my body. His warm hand slides onto my thigh, and thumbs at it gently. His breaths pick up, like just touching my thigh gets him excited. 

And I just … I don't even move. My arms are limp at my sides, my legs crossed as they were the entire time we were sitting here. 

There's plenty of light from the lamp on my nightstand. This is very different from that night in the darkness. This is … on purpose. 

Snow's hand shifts, and follows the short path to my crotch. I inhale sharply as he cups me gently in his palm. I'm not quite there, not quite all-the-way-hard. But Snow looks up at me, right into my eyes. He's so close—he's biting his lip—and I … 

His fingers move, tracing over all my edges through my pyjama bottoms. 

I think I could come from just a few minutes of this. 

His fingers still their tentative exploration, then in one decisive move he's pushing them past my waistband to grip me. Skin on skin. He pulls my cock out of my bottoms, and looks down at it. I wish I knew what he was thinking. 

I don't have time to reflect on that further, because Snow's head is diving down towards my lap. His grip firms on the base of my cock, and then that blessed, warm tongue laps a swipe over my cockhead. And my hand goes automatically to Snow's back, as he goes in for another lick. 

And, before I can even _think_ , he's sucked me into his mouth, and I'm rubbing at his back—at his shoulder blade—and trying not to buck my hips up into his hot mouth. 

He bobs his head a little, swirling his tongue around me—and my other hand finds his hair. It's automatic, I can't help it. My legs are already loosening, stretching out, and I'm just unwrapping—coming undone by this, by the sweet and tentative movements of his mouth. 

And Snow's hair is bouncy and thick between my buried fingers. I'd always wondered— 

He pulls up off my dick, and I don't let go, as he looks up at me with lips shiny with spit. Instead, my hand slides down to the hair behind his ear, and my wrist is pressed to his warm skin. 

'You can lie down,' he says, looking at me with a startling brightness in his eyes. 

I grunt out my approval, since I can't seem to make words happen, and stretch out properly with Snow making room for my legs. He pulls down my bottoms, and keeps pulling them until they're off my legs completely. He tosses them aside and crawls back to my cock, on hands and knees. 

He sucks me down, and keeps going—swallowing up the whole length of me until it makes him choke and sputter around it. 

'Easy,' I gasp out, and he hums a reply around my cock. Crowley, it's incredible. 

It's incredible and perfect, and he's resuming a not-too-deep rhythm that makes me curl my toes. I lean up to watch myself disappear into his mouth and reappear as he bobs up and down. My cock is glistening in the light from his saliva. Incredible. A hand snakes up under my pyjama top, smoothing flat against my abdomen, travelling up until it finds a nipple, and he _pinches_. 

I gasp out, arching up, and he just keeps going—sucking and sucking like he _enjoys_ it. He's humming and groaning against me now, and I notice his free hand disappear underneath his own body. Is he touching himself? Fuck, I hope he's touching himself. The very idea— 

His fingers stop their pinching and flicking at my nipple and just start kneading at my skin with increasing irregularity. His mouth bobs faster, and I think I'm … I think I can't hold out any longer … 

'I think I'm—' I gasp out. ' _Simon_.' My fingers bury themselves into his hair—both hands. 

I come hard, inside of Snow's mouth, and he swallows it all down, still bobbing his head up and down, letting me ride it out. 

Once I'm all spent, he pops off of me, licking at his bottom lip. 'Mm,' he hums. 

'Do you want me to …' I gasp out breathily. 

He holds up a palm covered in come. And leans back against the wall with a happy sigh. Our legs are touching and his softening cock is sticking out of his joggers, trapped by the waistband against his stomach and overtop his t-shirt. It's shining with come. 

I move to get my tissue box from my nightstand, and hand it to him. 

'Cheers,' he says, with a satisfied smile and sleepy eyes. I lie back down and watch him scrub off the come with a tissue, then dab at the end of his cock with another. He tosses the tissues to the floor beside the bed, and I don't even mind. I'll clean them up later. 

'We should restart the episode,' he says. He's still smiling a little, and I want to kiss at the corner of it. 

I'd forgotten about the show, playing softly in the background. So we're just going to sit here together, after _that_. And Snow is making no indication he's going to tuck himself back into his trousers. I want to touch his soft skin there, even though it'd be much too sensitive. 

'Yeah,' I say, instead, and reach over to have the episode start again. I make no moves to put on my bottoms, too.  
  
  


~~

**BAZ**

So Simon and Snow and I are involved in some sort of sexual relationship, then. We've been visiting each other's room at night nearly every other day or so.

And right now we're naked and _spooning_. And I could pretend. Like this—I could pretend it's something real. 

I'm the "little spoon", and Avatar is playing on Snow's laptop in front of us. Snow's soft cock is nestled into the cleft of my arse—and just the thought of that is making my cock twitch. Snow is idly tracing patterns on my stomach with his fingertips as we watch, nestling his head into the crook between my head and shoulders. He’s breathing slowly and deeply, like’s he’s relaxed like this. With me. 

The fire-benders are attacking another village that the good guys are staying in. It's a bit repetitive, but I can privately admit that I'm emotionally invested. 

'You're Zuko,' Snow says casually, near my ear. 

That actually stings … I don’t know if Snow meant to be hurtful, it's just … 

'So I'm the villain,' I say. I guess I'm not surprised. I suppose I should be resigned to it by now—the fact that Simon Snow will always see me in that way. It doesn't matter that we suck each other off every once and a while (sometimes at the same time), or watch cartoons naked together afterwards. I'm always going to be the evil, plotting vampire. A monster. A villain— 

'No!' Snow cuts in through my thoughts, and pushes me onto my back so he can look down at me. And he looks worried, frantic even. 'Not the villain—I mean, sorry, I guess it's a spoiler but Zuko isn't—well, you'll see. But he's not _bad_.' I blink up at him as he babbles. 'I just meant, well, you'd be a fire-bender, don't you think?' 

'Yes,' I say tentatively. I suppose I would be, wouldn't I? 

'And Zuko's a bit, well, misunderstood right now. But he's brilliant and determined and kind of emo, you know? So I think it … fits …' he trails off. 

'Oh,' I say breathily, choosing to ignore the “emo” part. His eyes are so shiny and wide, reflecting the laptop light. 'Yeah, all right.' 

He smiles a little, like he's still not sure he hasn't fixed it. But … but I suppose he has, so I smile back. 

'Who are you, then? The avatar, I suppose? Chosen One—' 

'No,' Snow interrupts, wincing. 'Definitely not. I'm just a Normal now,' he says, and he looks at the screen instead of at me and I don't know what to say. We've never talked about him losing his magic. I wouldn't know the right thing to say … Snow's face brightens a bit, but it feels like he's putting up a front. 'I'm Sokka, I guess, yeah? I'm along for the ride, and I'm the weapons guy.' 

'Blue eyes,' I add, and I've just sort-of blurted it. Said-eyes lock onto mine, and he smiles a little at me. I'd kiss him, if we did that. But we don't. 

'Do you want to have sex?' he asks. 

I blink up at him, and then down his body to his soft cock. He doesn't seem ready for another round. 

'I mean, anal,' he adds, and, when I look back at his face, he's a bit flushed. He licks at his bottom lip. ‘Like … sometime. Some _day_. Soon-ish.’ 

'Oh,' I say. 'Er, yeah.' 

'I could bottom first.' 

And I'm just blinking at him, a bit in awe. 'Okay.' 

He grins, biting at his bottom lip. 'Cool, yeah. Maybe tomorrow? I'll need to buy condoms and lube and … is there anything else?' 

I shake my head. _Crowley._ My first time … _tomorrow_ … with Simon bloody Snow. I'm living a charmed life. 'Condoms and lube are sufficient,' I murmur. I want to kiss him. 

He smiles. 

The sound of a text comes from Snow's phone, so he leans over me and snatches it up off the nightstand. He plops onto his back beside me and opens up the message. 

I can clearly see that it's from Beth, that girl who gave him her number right in front of me. And some feeling, something ugly, chills me. I try to bite it back, because I know that it's not a useful feeling. I think it might be jealousy … even though I'm the one naked in bed with Snow. 

'What is it?' I ask, as Snow types a reply. 

'Oh, it's just Beth about my class notes. We're meeting at the café tomorrow at one.' 

'Couldn't you have just emailed them to her?' 

He pauses to think about that, then he shrugs. 'Maybe she'll need me to explain something. I don't know. At least I'll get a free drink out of it, yeah?' 

He sounds pleased. And I should just take it all at face value, and I shouldn't focus on the fact that he and I have never been to a café together. Never been on a date. Nor will we ever, because this is not a real relationship. We're … "fuck buddies". I wince and turn my head away towards the screen again. 

I think Simon Snow's got a date tomorrow, and I'm not sure he even knows.  
  
  


~~

**SIMON**

Buying condoms and lube was a bit embarrassing, but I got some snacks too as camouflage, and I pretended to be really interested in the wall when the sex stuff got rung up.

So, yeah. We're all set, I think, for my first time. I don't know if it's Baz's first or not, but I'm not really bothered whether it is or isn't. I'd imagine he'd've had penetrative sex, actually—he's just so bloody attractive and smooth and I guess I can't imagine him being nervous or inexperienced about this or anything really. Me, on the other hand, yeah—I'm a little nervous. But I've been touching my arse in the shower lately … like sticking the tip of my finger in as I wank. And I think about Baz, and his finger there, and his cock, and I can't get it out of my mind. 

I want to know what it feels like to have him inside me. 

So I've got all my bags, snacks too, and I'm at Baz's door. I knock first, and hear a muffled, 'Yeah,' from inside. 

I push it open, and he looks up at me from his desk, with schoolwork all spread out in front of him. 

There's something in his look, in his eyes, that makes me stop short. 

'How was your date?' he asks dryly, and looks away from my face. 

I blink at him. 'What date?' 

He scowls. 'I would've thought that was obvious. _Beth_.' He says her name like he _hates_ her, and I don't get it. 

'I …' I start slowly. 'I don't think it was a date,' I say honestly. 'She bought me a caffè mocha, yeah. But that was for helping her out with the classes she missed. And I had to explain a couple concepts to her. Then we split a bit of pie and yeah, we just chatted about stuff after that. But I don't think it was a date.' 

His jaw muscles are twitching. 

I'm confused, so I keep going, 'I mean, I did walk her back to her dorm, and she did say we should do something like that again because it was fun or whatever. And I agreed, because we had a nice time, I suppose. And she did kiss me on the cheek … but some girls just do that, right? Doesn't mean it was a date—' 

'I can't do this anymore.' 

A chill runs up the back of my arms and neck and my heart’s already beating really hard, and I don't _know_ — 'What?' 

'This,' he says much louder, and it makes me jump. 'I can't do _this_.' 

'I …' I try to swallow, but my mouth is so dry. 'Do you mean the sex thing?' Because we don't have to have _sex_ , we can just … carry on as we have … 

'Everything,' he bites out, and he's looking at me now. His eyes are hard and angry, and I don't _get it_. 

I take one step closer to his desk. I force out the question, 'Why?' 

'This isn't what I wanted.' 

And it's like a slap. I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do with myself. I hold my bags closer to my stomach, and I can't stop staring at him. Trying to decide if this means _I'm_ not what he wanted, because that's what it sounds like. 

'Not what you wanted,' I echo, and my voice is steadier than I feel. 

His sharp eyes find mine again, and he bites out, 'No, it _isn't_.' 

'Right,' I say. 

There's nowhere to go from "not what I wanted" is there? It's … it's pretty cut and dry. 

'Right,' I say again, because I'm an idiot. 

'You can go now,' he says. 

So, I do.  
  
  


~~

**BAZ**

I did the right thing.

It was best to cut it all off before Snow ended it himself. And I know it was only a matter of time until he'd come to me and say he couldn't fool around with me anymore, in order to be with someone for real. It'd hurt more then, from him. Better that I did it, in one swift, clean cut. 

We never finished Avatar though. And now I can't bring myself to watch it on my own. 

I still see Simon around, of course. But I don't acknowledge him because I think that would send mixed messages. He's fine, anyhow. I've seen him in the halls and the cafeteria and in class. He seems to be favouring oversized hoodies and joggers at all times right now. But it is quite cold lately, and I'm sure they are very comfortable. 

I've caught him watching me a few times. And when I meet his eyes, on accident, he looks off fast. And I've seen something pass over him, over his face, like he's pained or something. But that'd be ridiculous. Maybe he just doesn’t realise that I did him a favour yet.

**SIMON**

'What did he say exactly?' Penny asks. Her face is taking up most of the screen as we FaceTime, and her eyebrows are furrowed like she's concerned about me. But I'm fine.

'That I'm not what he wants,' I mumble half into my pillow. 

' _Simon_. What were his _words_?' 

I sigh, and roll onto my back, holding my phone over my head. Sort of. I don't really care if I aim it at my face properly. 'He said … _this isn't what I wanted_.' 

'Well … did you ask him what he does want?' 

'No.' 

'Why not?' 

'It was implied that it wasn't me.' 

'Simon—' 

'He'd rather someone better looking, smarter, more interesting … A girl probably—' 

Penny sighs. 'Simon it's been nearly two weeks. Don't you have to do a presentation with him on Monday?' 

'Yeah.' 

'You're still talking about him. So obviously you have some unresolved feelings.' 

I've nothing to say about that. 

'Have you been showering?' 

'What's the point?' 

'Oh, Simon.' She's silent for a while, and I'm staring at my ceiling. 'You really like him a lot, don't you?' 

I don't know whether to laugh or cry. I know it's stupid. I know he and I hated each other for years, and then one explicit text conversation seemed to change all that overnight. And now I know what he feels like in my arms. And I just … I don't know. It feels like a rug's been yanked from under me and I haven't been able to climb to my feet yet. Because … it was a really great rug … _Fuck_ , what the hell is wrong with me? 

I miss him? I guess I just miss him, and my chest aches with it. And I'd rather he wanted me, but he doesn't. And I guess I'm going to have to accept that. 

I realise Penny is watching me like she's analysing me. 'I think you should tell him how you feel. It'll make you feel better, if nothing else.' 

I scoff. 'He'd laugh.' 

'He wouldn't.' 

'It's _Baz_.' 

'Exactly,' she says, and I think she doesn't know what she's talking about.  
  
  


~~

**BAZ**

Simon is still dressed in a large hoodie and joggers—it's not exactly common presentation attire. But he's remarkably well-prepared for the presentation itself, even if he won't look or acknowledge my presence as we go through the PowerPoint slides, alternating back and forth with each one.

His voice is a bit dull, too. Resigned. 

I wonder if he's simply angry with me. 

By the end of it, I feel we've done pretty well, and I even caught Prof. Mukerjee smiling at us. I gather my notecards and my laptop, and head back to my seat once it's done. Snow does the same, on the opposite side of the lecture hall. 

The next group goes up and starts presenting on wage inequality. I glance at Snow. He's slumped down, with head bowed low, and legs outstretched. 

I don't pay any attention to the presentations. It's all going into one ear and out the other. I’m … confused. 

After class, I watch Snow rush out ahead of everyone else. I gather up my things, and head out myself. Once I get into the building's entranceway, I find it's raining. Pouring, really. And I hadn't brought an umbrella—the forecast hadn't called for it. 

Well, suppose I'll try to wait it out. I look out the window and think I spot Snow's back getting further and further away down the path through all the grey and wet. And he didn't even put his sodding hood up. 

Without thinking on it, I'm out the door.

**SIMON**

'Simon!'

I pause. Though maybe I shouldn't. 

Baz comes up and swings around me to face me properly. He's getting soaked, but he's searching my eyes, seeming unconcerned about the weather. 'Are … are you all right?' 

'Yes,' I say, and try to move around him, but he steps in front of me. 'What.' 

'You're cross with me.' 

'Am I?' I ask. I look past his shoulder, thinking about shoving past him. 

' _Simon_.' 

He sounds like Penny. He makes it sound like I'm some pitiful person, pining and … and pathetic. Well that may be true, but I don't appreciate him talking down to me. Like I still don't know how to use my words properly. Well … I do. I _can_. 

So I round on him, and his eyes widen at whatever he sees in my face, stepping back. 

Rain is pouring down his face, it's in his hair—his eyelashes. And I hear it all around us, loud, louder than anything else. So I speak up. 'So what _do_ you want, then?' My head’s raised to face him, more confident than I feel—like I'm not ashamed to ask. 

He blinks at me, like he's taken aback. 

'You said you didn't want me,' I say, and I hate how hurt it sounds. 'So what do you want, then? You might as well tell me what I've got missing.' 

He's blinking quite fast now. Must have rain in his eyes. 'I …' 

'You could tell me what I did wrong,' I add, and I hate that I'm starting to do that pre-cry frown where my bottom lip wants to do something and I have to pinch it in. My throat hurts from it. I guess … I guess at least with it raining if I cry a bit he won't even notice. I gasp a quick breath and add, 'So I don't do it again.' I can't look at him anymore. There're nameless, faceless people trudging nearby with their umbrellas. I should've brought mine with me. I'm going to be soaked to the bone. 

I don't even want him to answer. He'll just say what I know already. I'm stupid, and never learned how to love someone properly because I didn't have parents who loved me. No one taught me properly. I'd been at it alone for so long that I don't know any other way. Agatha saw it, and Penny’s got to be an exception ... 

He'd want someone better. 

'You've …' he starts. 'You've got it wrong. It's not you … it's me.' 

I laugh. It's bitter and aching, but it's a laugh. 

'But you … you,' Baz continues. I glance at him, and he looks pained. And I think I'm at least a little pleased about that—that he feels _something_. He takes a step closer to me, and licks at his bottom lip. He's so wet, rain is dripping down his too-high nose. He inhales a shaky breath. 'You went on a date.' 

'No I didn't,' I bite out, and just the idea makes me angry. 

'You wanted to have _sex_ , Snow. But _we_ ,'—he gestures between us—'hadn't been on a date. We hadn't even kissed.' 

My anger seems to melt away. 

He looks stricken, wide-eyed and looking at me like he doesn't really want to be doing this, but finds he has to. 'I've never kissed anyone before.' 

And I think the world has dropped out from around us, and there's only him. Only me. The rain in our hair and on our shoulders. Baz never kissed anyone? 

‘You didn't even ask me,' I say. 'You never thought to ask what I want.' 

His chest is heaving, and his expression lost. 'What do you want, then?' 

'I want …' I take a breath. 'You.' I step in closer, and Baz is watching my face without blinking, looking like he could cry too. 'I want to kiss you, and take you on dates, and—and to hold your hand walking around campus. And I want to finish watching Avatar with you.' 

He chokes out a laugh, and I think he might be crying a little bit. I reach up to push his wet hair out of his face, and my hands settle over his cold cheeks, and he's still watching me—and I don't what I'm doing but I think this is right. I keep brushing at the water on his face with my thumbs. 

'What do you want?' I ask. 

'Everything you just said,' he says. ‘You. All that with you.’ 

'Okay,' I say, because I think we've finally just figured something out. 'I'm going to kiss you.' I don't want to wait another moment. 

I bring my mouth to his, and his mouth is cold and slow to react. But I guess that's because it's his first kiss. He's so tentative against my mouth, so careful, and it makes my chest … just … burst with it. I never thought … 

I pull away first to look at him, and his eyes are still closed. While smiling, I plant a few more quick pecks against his mouth. And then I grab his hand, and pull us towards the direction of our dorms. 

We catch each other's eyes on the way, and he's smiling back. He squeezes my hand. 

And once we're in my room, I loan him a towel and some clean, dry clothes. Before I know it, he's holding me tight and kissing at my temple as Avatar plays from beside us on the bed.  
  
  


~~

**SIMON**

I'm in the middle of class when I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. I chance a glance at the professor and find he's got his back to the class. So I pull it out, and see it's an image alert from Baz.

I keep my phone close to my chest as I unlock it (my lock screen is fan art of Zuko kissing Sokka on the cheek). I keep it close so no one will see Baz’s message. 

I suck in a breath as my eyes roam over it. It's half of Baz's chest, with his left nipple dead centre. Fuck, he's so hot. Those hairs on his chest, that I just want to rake my fingers through. The nipple that is so suckable, so biteable … 

I type a reply. 

**Simon (1:24pm):** ❤️❤️  
**Simon (1:25pm):** sex tonite? 

A couple minutes pass, then another image comes through. 

I make a muffled choking sound. Holding a hand over my mouth, I look around the class to make sure no one’s noticed. The professor is still talking, and not looking in my direction. 

My eyes fall to my phone screen again. Fucking hell—it's a shot taken from an angle above Baz's head. He's looking at the camera with a cheeky half-smirk. And he's completely starkers, and _hard_. I can see him, all of him, from his head to his knees. He's standing in his dorm room, and it's the sexiest picture I've ever seen. 

And now I'm extremely hard. In class. Great. 

**Baz (1:28pm):** I'm ready now  
**Simon (1:29pm):** fuck you  
**Simon (1:29pm):** i'm in class right now you arse  
**Baz (1:30pm):** 😉  
**Simon (1:31pm):** i want that picture framed  
  
  


~~

**BAZ**

Simon is below me, and our bodies are moving together in synchronicity, like some sort of dance. I'm inside of him, buried deep inside his clenching heat. And I've never felt so connected—so blissfully happy all at once. His legs hold tight around my waist as he writhes, squeezing his eyes shut and throwing his head back.

'Baz,' he gasps out, and I lean down to capture his mouth in an open kiss. His tongue finds mine, as I find that spot deep within him. He moans loud into my mouth, and palms at my back, scratching at my skin. 

One of these days I'm going to tell him how much I love him. How I’ve loved him since we were fifteen, or perhaps even long before that. How I'm always going to love him, and I've never known anything to be truer than that. 

'Simon,' I say against his lips, and it feels like a promise. 

‘ _Baz_.’

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading ❤️


End file.
